- August 15,1947 - <br /> <br />A thorny circlet on its plucky temple, <br />makes the sweat go astray. <br />Yet it bows, gives a humble show. <br />Its greater dogma, at display. <br /> <br />Nonchalant, as it lets the thicker drip, <br />salutes to the esteemed one. <br />Bends to touch the fertility in itself, <br />submits to the higher canon. <br /> <br />A red-eye’s cries had been wasted, <br />deaf ears silenced the woe. <br />A vein was cut. Another, to resonate. <br />And the red did flow. <br /> <br />‘Twas when its heart and brain bickered, <br />that Trouble announced its decree. <br />It split. But congregated, as the ants were <br />marching towards the same tree. <br /> <br />And as the fire caught on afar, <br />Browns were draped in white. <br />One after another, nails hit the coffin, <br />all to its Master’s plight. <br /> <br />Its kite flew on a slender thread, <br />the wheel continued to spin. <br />It weaved itself into a handsome three, <br />and simply affirmed its win. <br /> <br />Burnt in the heat of a triumphant flame, <br />It bears a blackened hand. <br />Moist soil festooned by the revered ash, <br />Free, but fragile, it stands.<br /><br />Neethi (10 Aug 1990)<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/india-10/
